


Pili Koko

by Calacious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione must go live with an aunt she's never met before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a livejournal LAS round.

Hermione Granger stood and stretched the kinks out of her back. It had been a long flight, and she wished that she could have traveled by magical means instead, but Dumbledore and other members of the Order had insisted that she use Muggle venues of transportation. It would be safer than using magical channels, they’d assured her.

Spending nineteen hours in what essentially amounted to little more, in Hermione’s mind, than a metal tube hurtling through the air at high velocity had left her feeling more than a little stiff and groggy. She was physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted. Sighing, she reached for the bag she’d placed in the overhead compartment and smiled her thanks when the man in front of her pulled it down for her.

That, and the purse she’d carried onto the plane contained every last one of her remaining possessions. The bag itself was small, but it held a great deal thanks to magic. Mrs. Weasley had helped her shrink the books that she’d wanted to take with her, and had offered to store the ones which Hermione didn’t mind leaving behind until school resumed in the fall. Clothes, writing materials, various bric-a-bracs, and family albums had also been shrunk to fit the small bag.

She choked back a sob as she took the bag from the kind man. It wouldn’t be prudent for her to have an emotional meltdown in the crowded aisle of an airplane as the passengers were disembarking. She took several deep breaths to quell the almost overwhelming sense of sorrow that threatened to envelop her and followed the line of people through the plane, stumbling a little as she exited the aircraft.

In spite of the long trip, she hadn’t managed to get much sleep. Her mind had been too preoccupied and filled with terrible visions inspired by her overactive imagination. She, like her best friend, Harry Potter, was now an orphan because of Lord Voldemort.

There had been a raid on families of Muggle-born witches and wizards. If she hadn’t been visiting the Weasleys at the time, she too would have been killed. What little Remus Lupin had told her about her parents’ deaths only served to fuel her determination to aid Harry with whatever he needed to vanquish the megalomaniac once and for all.

She blinked back tears as she walked toward the baggage claim area where she was to meet an aunt she had met once, when she was two. Her mum hadn’t spoken of her younger sister very often, but Hermione got the sense that, in spite of their differences in age and personality, she loved her very much.

Still, she felt a little nervous. She hadn’t seen her Aunt Rachel in almost over twelve years and knew that this had to be coming as quite a shock to her. What if she didn’t want her? From their brief conversation on the phone two days ago, Hermione had learned that she had an eight-year-old cousin, Grace. Would her aunt want to take on the task of caring for an orphaned teen as well?

Rachel nervously paced the airport terminal, having arrived an hour before her niece’s flight was due. Grace was still at school; Danny would be picking their daughter up that afternoon anyway, but she would have liked to have her along with her as she waited.

She had only met little Hermione once, when she was a toddler, and worried that she wouldn’t recognize the young teenager. But, as she scanned the faces of the arrivals from London, her heart caught in her throat.

Hesitating for only a second, she rushed up to a young, teenage girl, who, aside from an unruly mane of curly hair, was the spitting image of Jean. For a moment, she was filled with a sense of dread which she quickly brushed aside. She took a deep breath and silently held her arms open, ushering her young niece into a warm embrace.

“Hermione dear, I am so sorry,” Rachel said softly, hugging Hermione to herself, squeezing tightly as the girl let out a single, quiet sob. “I loved your Mum, and promised her that if anything happened to her, I would take care of you.”

“Thank you,” the quietly spoken words came out muffled and Rachel pulled back slightly, brushing away her niece’s tears with her thumb.

“How about if I get you home now,” Rachel suggested, smiling when Hermione mutely nodded. “I’m sure that you must be exhausted after that long flight.”

“Yes ma’am,” Hermione answered politely, suddenly shier than she’d felt since hanging out with Ron and Harry at Hogwarts.

The boys, in spite of her remonstrations to the contrary, had been a good influence on her and she’d miss having regular communication with them over the summer months. She could call Harry, if her aunt allowed her to do so, but contacting Ron would be out of the question as his family didn’t own a phone and they’d all been forbidden to use owls or other wizarding means of communication. It was simply too dangerous. Voldemort, though, would not be tapping phone lines, the arrogant wizard thought far too little of Muggle technology to view it as a viable threat.

“Please, none of that. Call me Aunt Rachel,” Rachel insisted. She reached for Hermione’s bag and gave it an insistent tug when the girl refused to release it. “Let me help,” she offered gently.

Hermione nodded. Biting her bottom lip, she followed her aunt out of the airport and to the waiting car. The aromatic scent of Plumeria wafted over her as she walked, dousing some of her anxiety as peace stole over her. Her aunt brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, a gesture which reminded Hermione of her mother, and seeking comfort so like that of her own mother’s, she leaned into the touch.


	2. E hiamoe me ka maluhia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione misses her family, her home, her friends. With the help of a teddy bear that Grace gave her, and some comfort from Rachel, she's finally able to get her first good night's sleep since this whole nightmare began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title translates, roughly (according to sources), to, sweet sleep.
> 
> This was written in response to comments left by readers asking for more (feedback really does make a difference). Thank you for showing an interest in what I had written, and letting me know that you were interested in reading more of this universe. I hope that you like this additional material, and that you will take the time to let me know.
> 
> hc_bingo square tackled for this: homesick.

Hermione clutched the teddy bear to her chest, and wept into its soft, curly fur.  It was well-worn, and Hermione could tell that it had been loved by the little girl who had given it to her. It had an eye that was hanging by a thread and an ear that had a small tear in it, as though it had been bitten into.

 

Oddly enough, the battered bear reminded Hermione of Crookshanks, and that brought a fresh onslaught of tears. Though she knew that Crookshanks was safe at the Weasley’s, it was hard for her to be separated from him. She’d been unable to take him with her, and even though he was just a pet, she missed him keenly.

 

Even with all of its faults, it was a charming, brown bear, much as Crookshanks, for all of his faults, was an amazing companion, picking up on her emotions in a way that not even her friends or her parents had been able to. Right now, though, the stuffed bear was the only thing in all of Hawaii that knew the depths of Hermione’s heartache, and the pain that she felt over the loss of her mother and father. Hermione wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, and tried her best to stifle the sound of her crying by, once more, burying her face into the bear’s fur.

 

Hermione didn’t want to wake her Aunt Rachel or her Uncle Stan. Worst of all, she didn’t want to wake Grace. The little girl had a summer school program to attend in the morning, and she was looking forward to spending the weekend with her father. Hermione would hate to ruin any of that for Grace by waking the younger girl in the middle of the night.

 

Hermione laughed suddenly – a broken, melancholy sound that ended in tears – as she was reminded of some of what she, under the influence of Ron and Harry, had gotten up to in the middle of the night at Hogwarts during the school year. Some of what they’d stumbled upon in the previous years had been downright terrifying –if only their encounter with Hagrid’s three-headed dog, Fluffy, in their first year, had been the worst of it.

 

Grace, in a spur of the moment act, had given Hermione the very bear that she was currently drowning in tears as she was reminded of, not only of her parents, but of the home that she’d lost, and the friends she’d had to leave behind to stay with her aunt. Grace had explained to Hermione how her Daddy had given it to her just before she and her Mommy had moved away a long time ago, and that, when she missed her Daddy, like she thought Hermione must miss her own mommy and daddy, she would talk to Mr. Bear, and he would listen.

 

He’d even, Grace had confided, been good enough to let her clutch him tightly to herself and cry into his fur. No matter how bad Grace was feeling, Mr. Bear had always understood, and helped her feel better. Much like the blanket that Hermione had always carted around with her when she’d been much, much younger.

 

Though Grace still sometimes missed her Daddy, she’d told Hermione that she now had a large, pink bunny she could talk to, and a Barbie doll that was very good at listening as well, and if she really, truly missed her Daddy, she could always call him whenever she wanted to. Grace knew that Hermione didn’t have that option, so she’d entrusted Mr. Bear to her care.

 

Hermione had no idea what had inspired Grace to give the treasured Mr. Bear to her – she’d been very good at not crying in front of the family, reserving her tears for the late hours of the night when she knew that everyone else was sleeping. She didn’t want her Aunt’s family to think she wasn’t grateful to them for taking her in.

 

Hermione had been touched by the gesture, and, though she felt like she was too old for teddy bears and the like, she hadn’t wanted to hurt her cousin’s feelings. Now, though, as she held the bear tightly and cried brokenly into his worn and patched fur, she was happy to have the bear.

 

The Order hadn’t been able to salvage much from her family home as it had been burnt to the ground. Tonks had managed to find a single, singed picture of Hermione’s parents, and given it to her before she’d left for Hawaii. Hermione kept the treasured photo beneath her pillow and kissed it nightly, before going to bed.

 

It was a foolish, sentimental gesture, and, instead of making her feel better, it somehow made her heart ache all the more, especially when it did very little to keep the nightmares that Hermione had been plagued with, at bay. She wished that she had a stash of vials of dreamless sleep on hand, so that she could sleep through the night.

 

A soft knock at her bedroom door startled her, and Hermione choked back a sob. She hastily wiped the tears from her face, and placed the bear back in his customary spot next to the lamp on the bedside table.

 

Another light knock sounded, and then the door creaked open slightly, admitting a smattering of light from the hallway. It spilled across the bedroom floor, and illuminated Hermione where she sat, hunched up against the headboard.

 

Her aunt, dressed in a chenille bathrobe, stood silhouetted in the doorframe, arms wrapped around herself in a kind of hug. It was another reminder of her mother, and Hermione clamped her mouth shut tightly, steadfastly refusing to let any more tears fall.

 

This was one time that Hermione wished she was brave enough to break the rules without Ron’s or Harry’s influence. Were she brave enough to risk expulsion and the breaking of her wand, Hermione would have erected an Imperturbable Charm over her bedroom door before going to sleep at night, making it impossible for her relatives to hear her no matter how hard she cried.

 

“Hermione? Are you awake?”

 

Hermione thought of just remaining quiet, and letting her aunt think that she was sleeping, but the decision was taken from her when her breath hitched on a sob. Before she had time to tell her aunt that she was fine, Rachel was across the room, and pulling Hermione into a bone-crushing hug.

 

Hermione remained stiff in her aunt’s arms, trying to push her mother’s younger sister away. Rachel sat next to her on the bed, and patted her back. “What’s wrong, Hermione?”

 

“I’m fine, Aunt Rachel, I just…” Hermione swallowed the rest of her words and shook her head.

 

Hermione’s eyes itched with the effort it was taking her not to cry, and her throat felt scratchy, and her aunt’s arms felt so much like those of her mother’s that, though she had always been a stubborn, young girl, Hermione couldn’t keep the tears from falling down her face, unchecked. Her Aunt Rachel didn’t chide her when Hermione wrapped her arms around her and buried her face in the woman’s chest. Hermione’s quiet tears soon became loud sobs that wracked her body with giant shivers that ran up and down her spine.

 

 

Hermione hadn’t cried like this since she was a very little girl and she’d lost her most prized possession– a doll that her favorite grandmother, who’d died shortly afterward, had given her. Even then, her tears had not lasted this long, and it hadn’t been quite this hard to breathe.

 

Hermione was afraid that she would never stop crying, now that she had started. She’d tried so hard not to wake her aunt, and had been doing her best for the two weeks that she’d been living with her aunt’s family, to appear happy, even cheerful, when around them. She didn’t want them to pity her, and she didn’t want to be a constant reminder of her mother to her aunt. Though she’d known that her mother and Aunt Rachel hadn’t been particularly close, Hermione knew that having her there, as a constant reminder of that, couldn’t have been easy on her, and she was ever mindful of that.  

 

“It’s okay,” Aunt Rachel murmured the words against the top of Hermione’s head as she rocked the both of them. “You don’t have to keep it all in, sweetheart. Let it out.”

 

“What if…what if…I can’t…can’t….st…” Hermione hiccoughed as she spoke, and her tears gave no sign of stopping anytime soon, “stop?” she gave voice to her greatest fear.

 

“Oh, honey.” Hermione could hear tears in her aunt’s voice, and, she held onto her aunt even tighter, wanting to offer comfort as much as she sought it for herself.

 

Hermione had felt bad, because she hadn’t even been able to tell her aunt the truth about what had happened to her sister – that she’d died a terrible, painful death at the hands of wizards who followed after a power-hungry monster who, if he could have, would have killed her too.

 

Hermione had no one, other than the little bear Grace had so thoughtfully given her, to tell any of that to, and she longed, more than anything to let it all out. To rant and rave and shout out her pain at the injustice of what Voldemort had orchestrated against her family.

 

But, Rachel, Stan and Grace weren’t magical, they were Muggle, and Dumbledore had forbidden Hermione to speak with her family about magic, and what had really happened to her parents, for the time being. She wondered if the wizened wizard would ever allow her to utter the truth to her surrogate family.

 

It was a long time before the tears finally ceased and all that was left was a dry aching in her heart where the raw pain had been. Hermione still felt the loss of her parents, and her home, but it didn’t hurt as much as it had before her crying jag.

 

Aunt Rachel hugged Hermione to herself for a long while after their tears subsided, and Hermione continued to cling to her, gaining solace from the warm embrace. After a time, her aunt gently disentangled their arms, and ushered Hermione beneath the covers.

 

She cast her eyes around the room, making Hermione frown in confusion. Her aunt’s eyes lit up when they landed on Mr. Bear, and she placed the bear on the bed next to Hermione.

 

“Just one moment,” Rachel said, “I’ll be right back.”

 

Her aunt returned a few moments later with a wet washcloth and a glass of water in hand. She gently bathed Hermione’s face, and, as though she was still a little girl, rather than a teenager, Aunt Rachel helped Hermione blow her nose. After further helping Hermione take a sip of water, Rachel aided her in settling back, underneath the covers, tucking them up beneath Hermione’s chin.

 

“Hermione, you don’t have to go through any of this alone,” Aunt Rachel assured her. “You can wake me, or your Uncle Stan at any time, no matter what. It’s not a bother or a burden, honey. I know we haven’t known each other for very long, and that I can’t possibly take the place of your mother, and Stan can’t take the place of your father, but, I promise to be here for you as I know that my sister would have been there for Grace.”

 

“Thank you,” Hermione said in a subdued voice, once she’d been safely tucked in, and she could find her voice again.

 

Her eyelids were heavy, but her heart felt lighter. She closed her eyes, and, subconsciously curled her arm around Mr. Bear, tugging him in close to her side, much as she would have done with Crookshanks had the half-Kneazle been with her.

 

Hermione felt her aunt’s fingers rustle through her hair as she fought to remain awake for just a little while longer. Even though she felt better, there was no guarantee that a nightmare wouldn’t wake her again, before the night was over. But, her sleep, for the first time in the two weeks that she’d been at her Aunt’s, was completely dream free. The last thing that Hermione remembered, before the morning sun woke her, was the gentle pressure of lips brushing across her forehead.


End file.
